


Small Talk and Stolen Touches Through the Iron Bars of a Cell

by HistoireEternelle



Series: Aurum [1]
Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe - Ancient Rome, Angst, F/M, Slavery, Torture, Woobie Rumplestiltskin | Mr. Gold, slave - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-21
Updated: 2014-11-21
Packaged: 2018-02-26 13:05:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,259
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2653046
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HistoireEternelle/pseuds/HistoireEternelle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He had been so skinny and crippled, walking with a wooden staff. She had known he was a slave, the marks of the whip on his back marking him as such.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Small Talk and Stolen Touches Through the Iron Bars of a Cell

**Author's Note:**

  * For [EmilieVitnux](https://archiveofourown.org/users/EmilieVitnux/gifts).



> EmilieVitnux prompted: Ancient Rome, Gladiators, Impossible Love.
> 
> I'm sorry dear, but it's not exactly what you asked for. 
> 
> I don't know what happened, I swear I don't know, I'm so sorry about the angst.

The first time she had seen him, she had been 12. It had been her birthday gift. Her father had thought it was a good idea to take his little girl to the Colosseum. He had thought it would be a good idea for her to see people kill each other. He had thought it would be a good idea for her to see tigers and lions suffer for the enjoyment of the public. She had been sick of it.

 

After the show – her father had spent his time yelling at the gladiators in the arena while her eyes had been hidden behind her hands – she had seen him. He had been so skinny and crippled, walking with a wooden staff. She had known he was a slave, the marks of the whip on his back marking him as such. After the show had ended, he had been the one cleaning the remains of the fallen. Her heart had gone to him. He had seemed so sad and tired. The show had been awful, but seeing that poor man had been hell.

 

Her father had never taken her there again, but she had come on her own. Every single time the Colosseum had hosted Games, she had been outside, looking through the iron bars to have a glimpse of the man. After a time, he had seemed to spot her, lowering his eyes every time they had made eye contact.

 

Once she had seen him tend to an injured lion with such gentleness that her eyes had been filled with tears. That had been the first time he had spoken to her. She remembered his words as if it was yesterday. She had been 15 at the time.

 

_“You shouldn’t be here, Miss,” he said with a raspy voice as if it hadn’t been used for a long time._

_“What’s your name, sir?” she asked._

_“Sir,” he chuckled. “I hadn’t been ‘sir’ for anyone for a long time now, Miss,” he shook his head, his long light brown hair hiding his eyes._

_“You must have a name, don’t you?”_

_“Rumplestiltskin,” he said after some hesitation, looking around to see if anyone was close. “But they call me Hobblefoot because… well… I shouldn’t be talking with you, if they see me I’ll be in trouble and you with me,” he added hiding in the shadows._

_“Please Mister Rumple… Rumplestish… Please sir,” she called, but no one answered._

She had come every day after that, seeking his company, learning about his past and how he had come to be a slave. She had listened to everything he had been willing to share. She had learned about his son, the young Baelfire killed in the arena for the amusement of the good people of Rome. Her heart had broken when he told her how he had been the one to collect his remains and bury what was left.

 

He had told her about how he had injured his own leg after his first time in the arena. They had sent him to excite the animals before the show. He had run for his life, running and running trying to outrun the beasts at his heels but he had been caught by a large paw on the back, leaving him senseless. Baelfire had been the one to nurse him, to save his life. After that, he had crippled himself, better be a cripple and be there to raise his son than a dead man. His master hadn’t been happy and had hung him by the hands and whipped him almost to death. Again Baelfire had been there to help. But his master hadn’t been a kind one. He had put Baelfire in the arena instead of him and his son has died, because of his cowardice.

 

She had cried at his story. Sobbing silently her head against the iron bars while he had begged her not to. He had begged her to leave him, to forget everything about him, to forget him. But she couldn’t. Sometimes, when she had come to the lion’s cage, he hadn’t been there and her heart had broken every time she had seen the empty cage knowing it could mean she wouldn’t see him again and every time he had healed her heart with a smile, apologizing to be late.

 

She had told him about the passing of her mother when she had been a child. She had told him about her loving father and the freedom she had, feeling guilty every time she had done so. But he had wanted to know her life, he had told her so when she had started to feel bad about it. He had wanted to live by procuration through her stories about the city and the politics of the Senate. He had wanted to know her.

 

She had been 17 when she had knew she had fallen in love with him and she had thought he might feel the same about her but she was the daughter of a Senator and he had been a slave. She had begged her father to buy him, but he had refused. Of course he had refused. Rumple had been an old slave, a crippled one, he had been of no use in the household. So everyday she had sneaked out the villa and had gone to the Coliseum.

 

That’d been when everything had started to crumble. She shouldn’t have talked to her father about Rumplestiltskin. She should have kept him for herself, kept him her secret. But she hadn’t. The day had been the same as many before. She had left her house, heading to the Coliseum and had found Rumple waiting for her at what had become their spot. They had shared a smile and some stories. Small talk and stolen touches through the iron bars of a cell.

 

On an impulse she had kissed him that day. She still didn’t know what had possessed her to kiss him. He had been talking about the village he had grew up in and she had looked at his lips moving and moving and moving and she had followed a foolish impulse. She had snuck her arm through the bars, closed her hand on the nape of his neck and pulled him. Her lips crashing on his, she had kissed him hard. She had felt his hand on her hip at the same time something had grabbed her by the shoulder pulling her backward, breaking the kiss.

 

Gaston. Of course it had to be Gaston. Head of her father’s security staff, former high-ranking legionnaire. He had yelled at her in the middle of the street attracting every stare on her. She had tried to explain but he wouldn’t listen. His stare had been on Rumple, murder in his eyes. The slave had tried to help, but behind his bars he couldn’t do much. She had looked at him, telling him silently to hide in the shadows to protect himself. Gaston had pushed her hard on the ground and had walked to the cage trying to grab Rumplestiltskin, but for once, those so hated irons bars had been his salvation.

 

But not for long.

 

She had been locked in the house for days after that. She had wept for days, crying her eyes out for the man she had fallen in love with, for the man she didn’t even know if he was still alive. She had her answer now.

 

“I’m so sorry Rumple,” Belle whispered clutching the broken bloody wooden staff on her lap.

 

 

 

 


End file.
